


Thought my teeth would break the mountain down

by rydia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Porn with Feelings, Porn with some plot, Post-Game, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22559074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rydia/pseuds/rydia
Summary: In the space of one conversation, Claude:1) tells Byleth she's to be queen of the new united Fódlan, but2) he has to leave so soon he won't even be there for her coronation,and3) he also wants to marry her.In the space of one conversation, Byleth thinks she might have ruined any relationship she had with Claude at all.(now with ART)
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 27
Kudos: 561





	Thought my teeth would break the mountain down

To be a queen is to be lonely, Byleth finds. In this knowledge she finds a new, but still limited, sympathy for Rhea – a woman who’d been in a similarly isolating position.

The comparison is unsettling. It's not something she likes.

With the seemingly never ending work required to rebuild and unite the continent after the war, Byleth wonders if it will ever get any easier, if she’ll find her smiles will become less strained, if she’ll ever not be tired again.

She wonders if she’ll ever feel like a queen, like someone suitable for this role, and not just an imposter playing dress up.

.

Six months after what they’d thought would be their final battle, Those Who Slither in the Dark rampage across Leicester, destroying villages in their march to Garreg Mach.

Byleth steps into battle again, wondering what it says about her that doing this – picking up a weapon and killing people – makes her feel more like herself than anything else has in the past six months.

Many die; Byleth herself nearly does, and it’s only because of the power at her fingertips that she manages to stay alive.

In the end, Fódlan saved by the Almyrans, lead by a familiar man on a white wyvern; the new king of Almyra.

Claude doesn’t stay long, still dealing with unrest and uncertainty around his own new role back across the border. He cannot risk staying away too long. His smiles at Byleth are warm but strained. Not fake, but… there's hurt there. And she knows the memory is as clear in his head as it is in hers; how six months ago he’d proposed and she’d said no.

What he doesn’t know is her regret about it, and how much she wants to talk to him.

What he doesn’t know is that it had been impossible for her to process what he'd asked at the time. In one sentence he’d told her that he was leaving; in the next he held out a ring and she had stared at it, unable to understand any of the feelings swirling in her gut beyond the wrenching sadness that he was _leaving her_.

But like he had six months ago, Claude leaves. They get no time to talk privately, and Byleth watches him disappear east, flying fast back to Almyra.

What Claude doesn’t know is that he’s taking her heart with him.

.

It is one year before she sees him again. They exchange letters, as friendly neighbours should. The letters start formal before turning warmer – and it’s Claude her friend writing to her, not Claude the king. But Byleth doesn’t know if she’s imagining the wall still between them, or if that’s just to be expected when they’re separated by literal mountains.

She writes and discards letters filled with the words she’d failed to say before – filled with her regrets and her belated realisations. It seems unfair to burden him with them now, and fearful of that wall growing higher, she burns the letters that say _I love you_ and _I’m sorry I didn’t realise it before._

And then she stops writing them at all, these letters that would never be sent anyway. She locks that up and focuses on trying to be a queen, a role that always seems to be shifting and changing, never allowing her to stand on settled ground.

Byleth had thought she was unsuitable to be a _professor_. This is even worse.

.

Time passes. The country begins to heal.

Byleth locks more of herself away, more than she’d ever had during the war.

.

A grand celebration is thrown on the first anniversary of the end of the war – the _true_ end, when Claude and his Almyran army had crossed into Fódlan and saved them all from what remained of the Agarthans. The end of that battle had marked the beginning of the breakdown of borders between the two continents. It remains an ongoing process – old prejudices are hard to shake – but it has begun in a hopeful way.

Byleth takes comfort in knowing that she is at least helping Claude achieve his dream.

Derdriu celebrates in style, with the great feast happening at the old Riegan palace, where Byleth now resides. She hadn’t wanted to make Garreg Mach her home and keep her rule so closely tied up with the Church, and Derdriu had seemed most appropriate to her as a place to base her rule. She likes being beside the sea, and the city had taken less damage than Fhirdiad and Enbarr.

In a silly, sentimental way, it makes her feel closer to Claude.

.

She watches Claude work his way through the crowd, golden and glittering. He looks like a king, and acts like a king. Where she is cold, he is warm.

Claude had greeted her formally earlier, as had all the nobility and delegates and other royalty, but she’d seen little of him since, and she longs to bathed in the light of his smile and to hear him call her _my friend_.

She turns away when she sees him smile at Petra and sweep her into a dance. Her heart clenches as it throws her straight back into a memory, when he’d taken her hand and danced with her at the ball at Garreg Mach. Shoving the memory aside, Byleth refocuses her attention on the noble by her side, giving him a placid smile. It’s one she’s perfected in the last eighteen months – one that doesn’t show the strain underneath it.

Hopefully no one has seen the way she looks at Claude. Byleth isn’t sure she’s good enough to hide the longing.

.

Byleth likes the biting wind that comes in from the sea. She’s spent countless nights standing on this balcony leading from her room, sometimes dressed in little more than her shift, until she’s shivering and her teeth are chattering and her hair is a tangled, hopeless mess from the wind and in her nose is the salty tang of sea air.

This is where she goes when she knows she can safely slip away from the party. Her rooms are far enough away that she cannot even hear the sounds of revelry from here. Anyone venturing outside would go to the sheltered gardens on the opposite side of the palace that have been set up for the celebrations, away from the blast of sea wind.

Here she will be undisturbed. She has privacy; one of the few places she can find it these days.

So it’s a surprise when she hears movement in her bedroom behind her. While she isn’t carrying a sword – not recommended at an event being held to celebrate _peace_ , Seteth had said – she’s still armed, and she spins, pulling daggers from the folds of her ostentatious dress, glaring into the dimness of her room.

“It’s just me, Teach.”

At the sound of Claude’s voice, she relaxes, stepping backwards to lean against the wall of the balcony, sheathing her daggers again.

He steps out, looking slightly sheepish.

“Sorry. I should have known better than to surprise you.”

Byleth stares for a moment, struck at the sight of him under the moonlight, resplendent in his royal attire. His face is warm and open, and all she wants is to step forward and wrap her arms around him and hope he’ll return the gesture.

She doesn’t though. Hardly something to do to a man whose proposal she turned down.

It’s hard to look at Claude when her regret sings as loudly as her love for him.

So she turns away, facing out over the palace gardens out towards the water again. “I have guards.”

Byleth hears the smile in his voice when he replies. “I know the secret passageways.”

Frowning out at the sea, Byleth tries to ignore that Claude moves to stand beside her, the fabric of his sleeve brushing against her bare arm. “I blocked the one leading to my room.” She shifts her arm away slightly, hoping he doesn’t notice. It’s hard enough to be close to him, any part of him touching her is too much and not enough, all at once.

“I noticed. Clever, that. But I said passage _ways_.”

That’s an unsettling thought – not about Claude using them, but that someone else might. Byleth frowns. “How many?”

“Just those two.” As if sensing her feelings, Claude continues. “I’ll show you, if you like.” At her small nod in response, he goes on. “I was worried when you left the party. We haven’t had a chance to talk.”

Byleth swallows back her first reply to that. _You looked busy_. It’s true – Claude had been busy. The former Duke of Leicester and the current King of Almyra is very much in demand. But the words seem bitter in Byleth’s head, and that’s unfair to him. She fears how they’ll sound if she says them out loud. So instead she settles for another equally true fact. “I was busy.”

“We both were.” Claude sounds rueful. Still, Byleth does not look at his face.

“Playing our roles.” These words definitely sound bitter.

Claude pauses, and turns slightly to better face her. She can feel him studying her, trying to figure her out. “Are you well, my friend? You seemed distant with everyone inside and, forgive me for saying this, but you look tired. We’re worried about you.”

“I am well.” Even as she wonders who _we_ is – Marianne, most likely, or Hilda, maybe even Lorenz – Byleth turns her fake smile on him. She’d learned it from Claude, after all, and learned to perfect it in the gaping chasm his absence left in her life.

He stills, watching her carefully. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not being entirely truthful?”

“I am well,” Byleth repeats, a sharpness creeping into her tone, making her words a clear lie. She turns away and enters her room, Claude following closely.

“Byleth–“

“I’m tired, Claude. I’ll see you tomorrow.” They aren’t the words she wants to say to him. But suddenly Byleth feels the need to protect herself, her desire to be close to him warring with the knowledge that she’s going to have to watch him leave again.

As she dismisses Claude, she turns to sit at her vanity, looking at anything but him. But she catches sight of her own reflection, all dressed up in her own finery, and that brings her no solace. She pulls the crown from her head harsher than she should, yanking at her hair which had been put into a careful and elaborate up-do. It’s taken mere seconds for her to destroy the work that had taken her maid an hour.

She carelessly lets the crown clatter onto the vanity and begins to pull at the pins in her hair.

But instead of leaving, Claude follows her again, standing behind her and watching her in the mirror. He winces at her harsh movements, quickly taking off his own gloves.

Byleth stills. “What are you doing?”

He grins wolfishly at her in the mirror, acting like their tense conversation moments ago never happened, leaning over her to place his gloves on the vanity. “Please, allow me.”

His sudden closeness steals the breath from Byleth’s lungs, leaving her unable to respond. Her hands have stopped moving, and her entire throat closes up when Claude gently takes those hands into his to guide them away from her hair. His skin is so _warm_.

“You’re freezing, Byleth,” he murmurs, grin morphing into a concerned frown.

She doesn’t respond, partially because she doesn’t know how to explain that habit she has of standing out in the cold, but also partially because she cannot speak, struck by his closeness, and how caring he is, and the painful knowledge of her own mistakes, a wound that she's always worrying. Claude lets go of her hands, and she drops them to her lap, which he takes as unspoken permission to continue. She supposes it is. Without a word, he starts to work on her hair, removing the pins holding it up. He’s so gentle, entirely focused on his task, acting like she’s something precious he has to handle with care. Occasionally his fingers brush against her scalp or the back of her neck.

Each touch she treasures even while it hurts.

Each pin he carefully places on the vanity.

A lump forms in her throat as she watches him in the mirror. His own hair is a bit longer than it had been last time she’d seen him, and is falling out of the carefully groomed style he’d begun the evening with. Now there are strands falling in front of his eyes, giving a rougher look to his otherwise pristine appearance. His beard is groomed to perfection, his eyes bright even in the dim room, his skin glowing and healthy. He’s so handsome, and so _good_ , and she feels the regret of her hasty words at the Goddess Tower even more.

Byleth closes her eyes, unable to look at him.

How was she supposed to have known the confusing and overwhelming feelings she’d had for Claude had been love? She had loved her father, but that had been different. That had been quiet and steady, something that had always been there for her entire life.

And she hadn’t even known it until she’d lost him.

Maybe she’d thought all love would feel like that, but now she knows comparing the familial love she’d held for Jeralt and the love she feels for Claude had been foolish. How she feels for Claude is a raging fire inside her that she can’t douse no matter how hard she tries to contain it, even if she hasn’t seen him in a year. In the time they’d spent together before – particularly as they worked together to end the war – he’d become so important to her, and so ingrained in every part of her. He drew her out, and made her smile, and made her– he made her feel loved.

And like Jeralt, she hadn’t realised until he was gone. The knowledge of what she’d had and lost still tastes bitter to Byleth, and she has no one to blame but herself.

Byleth could lead an army with complete confidence and win a war. But in this she was – and is – clueless.

It has been eighteen months since Claude had told her he wanted to marry her. Eighteen months since he’d handed her Fódlan. Eighteen months since he’d left, and she’d had to learn how to rule on her own.

Claude and his retinue from Almyra are here for one more night after this. But then he would leave and Byleth didn’t know when, or if, she’d ever see him again. For the five year celebrations of peace and unity? By which time he’ll have married someone else, and Byleth will still be the ice queen of Fódlan, cold and untouchable with only a long held memory of soft touches against her neck to keep her warm.

Aware she’s becoming mired in her own self pity and not liking it, Byleth takes a deep breath and does what she can to push it aside. She can’t let herself be overwhelmed by these feelings – damned, inconvenient feelings – not now. Not ever.

She opens her eyes, blinking away the forming tears, hoping that Claude is still focused on his task. But he isn’t. In front of her is a pile of pins and her hair falls loose around her shoulders and down her back.

Claude is staring at her face, a sad expression on his own.

“Byleth,” he whispers, almost pleading. “Please tell me what’s wrong?”

If this had been _before_ – before she was queen, before he left – Byleth would have told him. She’d always been honest and borderline blunt. She’d never learned to be anything else. Not until she’d become queen and found out that while you gained power with swords, words went a long way to keeping it. She couldn’t be Byleth the mercenary anymore. She couldn’t even be Byleth the Professor or Byleth the war general. She has to be Byleth the queen, someone who listens to her advisors and keeps her thoughts to herself lest she cause a diplomatic incident. She wears the ridiculous, impractical outfits that ‘befit her station’ and she locks herself away and shows only a mask to the world. She had never wanted this. She still doesn’t want this. But peace had been hard won, and Fódlan is only now beginning to show real signs of recovery. If it comes at the expense of herself then… well, then, so be it. Her former students are making their own lives now. They don’t need her like they did before – and that is as it should be. Even those that remain in Derdriu and serve her seem distant and remote. Her station means she can’t go hunting with Leonie, and her packed schedule makes even trying to arrange to have an uninterrupted tea with Marianne a hassle.

Seteth assures her that things will settle down, but Byleth finds she doubts that. Every day she is pulled in a thousand different directions and facing criticism in each one.

No, this is not _before_. She can’t tell Claude that she’s desperately lonely and worried, and unable to sleep, and that she loves him and every single second she regrets her reaction to his proposal eighteen months ago. She cannot tell him how overwhelmed and unsuitable she is for this role, how ridiculous it was to ever put her in this position, how even now each day still feels like a battle and she’s only a novice hardly able to hold onto her weapons as she attempts to rule.

She can’t tell this to Claude, who is no doubt facing his own version of these issues on the other side of Fódlan’s Throat. Despite her rejection of him, he still trusts her to keep Fódlan at peace.

She can’t say any of this to anyone.

Instead, as she takes a deep breath to find it in herself to give him false platitudes, Claude’s face hardens.

“Don’t lie again.”

She drops her eyes to her hands and sighs.

“Since when did you _lie_ , anyway?” he asks, sounding frustrated.

“Since I became queen,” is her quiet answer.

Claude takes a moment to reply, and she peeks up at him to see that his annoyance has fled and the sadness returned. “Of course,” he finally answers, in a way that lets her know that he understands. If anyone could, she supposes, it’s him. “But I would hope,” Claude goes on, “that you wouldn’t lie to me, of all people.”

Byleth’s shoulders sag. “What does it matter?” She can't help the edge of bitterness in her voice. “You’ll be gone soon.”

“It matters because you’re my friend and you’re struggling. I don’t know how no one else sees it. Let me _help_.”

She stands suddenly, pushing the chair back and forcing Claude to move away. “You can’t help. No one can help. It’s just how it is.” She raises her chin as she looks him in the eye, summoning every bit of cold she’s absorbed standing on the balcony over the last few months. Having Claude here is dangerous. It’s easier to be numb when he’s not around. “You should go.”

His mouth drops open with a sound of disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“You shouldn’t be here. What will it look like if anyone knew the king of Almyra is in the bed chamber of the queen of Fódlan?”

“No one knows I’m here.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Byleth. I don’t want to boast, but I _do_. This used to be my room – you think I don’t know all the secret ways to get in and out, completely unseen?”

That makes Byleth pause. “This was your room?” Her eyes dart to the large bed she’s been sleeping in since she’d moved here. That was Claude’s _bed_?

“You didn’t know?”

She gives a short shake of her head.

“And here I’d been hoping there’d been some hidden meaning in it.” There’s a forced joviality to Claude’s voice, that he soon gives up on, giving way to vulnerability. “Is it… is it really so terrible?”

She swings her eyes back to him, watching as his hand sweeps his hair back from his face. “What?”

“For me to be here. For people to know I was here.”

“It’s…” She licks her dry lips. Claude’s eyes track the movement. “It’s inappropriate.”

His response is flat. “Right.”

Silence falls, pricking Byleth’s skin. This is the first time she’s ever experienced an uncomfortable silence in Claude’s presence.

Eventually, he says, still in that same flat tone, “Then I’ll be going.”

She wants to tell him no, it’s not terrible for him to be here, and to ask him to stay, but she doesn’t. She can’t. Not after all she’s said and done to him. It’s better if he just leaves now.

If she keeps telling herself that, perhaps she’ll eventually believe it.

When she doesn’t reply, Claude makes that sound of disbelief again. She’s hurt him. Again.

Byleth squeezes her eyes shut and doesn’t even watch as he approaches the far wall opposite the bed where the fireplace is. She should pay attention to whatever secret mechanisation he’s using to open a hidden door, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t care about how he’s leaving, just that he is, even if it’s her own fault.

So while she doesn’t see Claude leave, she feels his absence immediately. For some time she simply stands there, staring at nothing until she suddenly feels too heavy to remain on her feet. Walking to the bed – _Claude’s_ bed – she sinks down on the side of it, dropping her head into her hands.

The regrets just keep piling up.

.

The next day, she watches Claude charm everyone. He looks like he’s had the most refreshing nights sleep, all bright and energetic. And even though Byleth knows very well how hard Claude works, he makes the business of being a king look effortless.

She struggles. That morning, Byleth's maid had frowned over her bloodshot eyes and dark circles, carefully applying make-up and eyedrops to make her look better. They’d dressed her in more impractical finery, and then given her a run down of the days activities and the people participating in them. Byleth had smiled and nodded, placid and regal on the outside while a scream built up behind her teeth.

She _struggles_. But she’s become good at keeping it hidden. No one wants a weak queen. They can’t afford a weak queen while they still build the foundations of their new country. So when she gets an approving nod from Seteth over the evening meal, Byleth knows she’s put up a good show. That’s something, at least.

But it’s more exhausting than fighting on a battlefield for hours. She’d give anything to shed all this finery and put on her old clothes and pick up a sword and fight something.

She’d give anything to disappear.

At one point in the evening, Byleth catches sight of herself in the reflection of some highly polished cutlery, looking disconcertingly like Rhea with her green hair, longer than it’s ever been before, and her rich clothes.

Perhaps she’s already disappeared.

.

She and Claude don’t speak beyond formal, public pleasantries.

Claude puts on a good show, too.

They dance together for one set, speaking empty words that mean nothing but will make anyone who overhears think that it’s wonderful that the two monarchs get along so well. Good for their countries. Good for peace.

But it’s the king of Almyra and the queen of Fódlan talking and dancing. It’s not Claude and Byleth.

.

That night, Byleth returns to her room late. The moon is high in sky, and she’d had no opportunity to disappear early tonight.

She’s too exhausted to do anything but fall onto her bed, not even bothering to remove her shoes or her crown. Byleth knows she can call someone to do it for her, but she hates the lack of privacy as it is, and she’s grown used to having her servants gone in the evening, relishing the solitude and doing something so simple as disrobing and getting ready for bed alone. As she curls into a ball in the centre of the bed, she lets the crown and pins in her hair stick into her scalp, not caring about the pain, as her heels drag and catch in the fabric of her long dress.

Since becoming queen, she’s learned to dance. Her dance with Claude tonight had been far more polished and refined than the one they’d shared years ago at the ball at Garreg Mach, when she’d stepped on his toes and he’d laughed and held her tighter as he led her about the room.

The dance tonight had been perfect, but cold. Rather like the way Claude had smiled at her.

She shivers.

He’s leaving tomorrow. It’s likely for the best, for him to be back at a distance. Correspondence will probably go back to being limited to state matters only. It’ll be easier to feel nothing when the person who makes her feel everything isn’t here.

For that reason, Byleth lets her tears fall. She never cries – she hasn’t since her father died – and after tonight, she won’t let them fall again. But for now, this is a moment of weakness. Curling up tight in the centre of the bed, knees to her chest, arms around her head, she cries, trying to muffle the sound. She attempts to make herself as small as possible, squeezing herself together so that she doesn’t fall apart.

She has to accept that she’s lost him, and move on. It seems impossible to do, but it had seemed impossible after Jeralt had died, too.

At least Claude is alive, and hopefully he’ll still be her friend.

The sudden dip in the bed from the weight of someone else sends her scrabbling, but tonight she doesn’t even have any hidden daggers on her. However, Byleth doesn’t need a weapon to be dangerous, and well trained instincts are winning out over her despair.

At least they are, until he speaks.

“ _Byleth_.”

It’s Claude, sneaking in soundlessly and wordlessly, again. He gathers her up in his arms as she gets her bearings, saying her name over and over again. She finds herself cradled against him, her head resting against his shoulder, and she shudders at his warmth, at his comforting smell, his presence.

But she can’t stop crying. It’s even worse now that he’s here, managing to be a balm to her wounds even as he cracks them open deeper.

“I’m sorry,” she manages to force out.

Claude sighs against her, running a hand up and down her back. “I’m sorry, too.” He takes a deep breath, and Byleth thinks he almost sounds like he’s on the verge of tears too. Pulling back to look her in the face, he pleads, “Please, let me help you.”

Byleth stares at him, his face as close to hers as it had been while they were dancing, but there’s nothing cold or fake about the way he’s looking at her now. And yet she can’t help but ask, “Why?”

“Because you’re my friend and I–“ Claude pauses. “Because you’re my friend, Byleth. I meant what I said when I told you I wanted us to always walk in step together.”

Shaking her head, Byleth pushes him away. She knows what he said but she can’t help but feel that words like that are coloured by the fact that he left.

He doesn’t let her get very far, keeping a gentle hold of her arm, one that Byleth could easily break out of if she wished. “Why won’t you speak to me?”

Byleth turns her head away. “You’re leaving tomorrow. How do you know we’ll still be walking in step?”

“Because I trust you, Teach.”

Once again, she shakes her head.

“It’s a bit late to start doubting me now.” He sounds hurt.

It makes Byleth squeeze her eyes closed, wishing she could be a person better with words. “I don’t doubt you,” she answers honestly. “I doubt myself.”

“You’ve been doing a wonderful job. And you’ve been queen for a while now. Why do you doubt yourself?”

She jerks her arm out of his reach and slides off the bed. This time Claude lets her go. “It doesn’t get easier. It just gets lonelier. And I…” Turning away, she pulls herself off the bed and marches out through the open doors to the balcony.

He follows. “You _what_ , Teach?”

“I just get colder,” she murmurs, letting the cold wind hit her.

She stiffens as Claude comes behind her, wrapping his arms around her, enveloping her once more in his warmth. “That’s because you keep standing out here.” He sighs. “I can stay longer, if you like.”

“No!” She snaps it out so quick, Claude recoils from her. Once again, she steps out of his arms. This time she turns to face him. “No,” she repeats, with more calm. “I would never ask you to do that.”

“I know that,” he replies, watching her in a way that Byleth knows he’s trying desperately to figure out what she’s thinking. “That’s why I offered.”

But she shakes her head again. “No.”

Claude leans against the wall with a calculating expression. “Why do you keep trying to push me away?”

“I’m not.”

“You _are_. I know what it looks like.” He shifts, becoming uncomfortable, and glances out over the sea. “Is it because of what I asked you at the Goddess Tower?”

Byleth’s mouth goes dry. It hasn’t been brought up since that night, by either of them, even if she’s tortured herself endlessly with thoughts of it ever since. She swallows. ”I–“

“Because if it is, I’m sorry. I don’t want my feelings to destroy our friendship. You’re too important to me.”

Byleth’s eyes widen as she stares at him. Her silence drags on so long Claude turns back to her, a blush crossing his cheeks.

“Teach?” he asks uncertainly.

“Your… your feelings?” she blurts out, finally.

“You know how I feel. Don’t you?” Claude frowns at her, and Byleth attempts to get her chaotic thoughts under control.

“I don’t… you didn’t.” She huffs, frustrated, battling with herself. In the end, Byleth the mercenary wins out over Byleth the queen, and the words are a relief to speak. “You never said how you felt. You handed me a ring right after telling me that you were leaving, but that I was to be queen. I didn’t know how to take _any_ of that conversation and then you were gone and they were putting a crown on my head and I’ve felt lost ever since.”

Claude opens his mouth. And then closes it, all the time staring at her with a slightly shocked expression. Byleth gets the impression he’s replaying their entire conversation that night in his head. “I love you,” he finally says, his own eyes wide. “With everything I am. I– I thought I had told you.”

She shakes her head, the breath knocked out of her by his admission. “You didn’t. You… you still love me?”

“Give a guy a break. You’d just turned down my marriage proposal.” He says the words with a forced chuckle in his voice, but she can hear the underlying hurt. His previous words are still ringing in her head. “I was feeling a little raw. And…” Claude steps towards her. “Of course I do. You’ve been part of my dream for so long. I’ll always love you. But I still don’t want that to ruin our friendship.”

Byleth is still reeling. “I needed time, Claude. When you asked, I panicked, because I couldn’t understand why you’d ask me that right after telling me you were leaving, but I had to stay. I’d have gone with you to Almyra.”

He throat works as he swallows heavily, emotion shining in his eyes. “You said, _I can’t_.”

“I was talking about being queen. You were leaving. I was upset.”

“Byleth, you said _I can’t_ right after I tried to give you a ring.”

“I didn’t know how I felt then,” she says, desperately. “I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t what I wanted to say.”

“ _How_ did you feel?” Claude sounds just as desperate, stepping even closer.

“I–“ The words catch, as terrifying to say now as they were to even think. She’d burnt every scrap of parchment she’d written it on, because it was so terrifying. Even knowing Claude feels the same way, it still seems so large.

“Byleth, please, tell me.” His hand cups her cheek with all the gentleness he’d shown last night when he’d taken each pin out of her hair patiently.

She shivers, but not because she’s cold. “I love you.”

Claude’s breath catches and a small smile begins curving his lips. “You do?” he whispers.

“Yes, I do. I did then. I just didn’t _know_. I’m sorry.”

Claude huffs out a laugh, his smile growing wider. His other hand comes up so that he’s cradling her face between them. “It’s alright. I suppose I did lay a lot on you at the time.”

 _It’s alright_ hardly seems right to say, after eighteen months of this. Byleth shakes her head. “I’ve regretted it ever since, but I felt I couldn’t tell you. That you had moved on and I…”

“You what?” he murmurs, leaning closer, his lips a hairs breadth from hers.

“I deserved it, for letting you go.”

His breath is warm against her. “And here I thought I deserved my regrets because I walked away.”

Byleth slides her arms around his waist, bringing his hips flush against him. Her face is tilted up, so close, _so close_ to him. “Claude. Claude, I love you.”

He brushes his lips against hers lightly as one hand comes to rest in her hair. “Say it again.”

She smiles at the expression on his face, the words coming easy now. “I love you.” She knows in that moment that she’ll never get tired of saying it. Raising her chin higher, she whispers against his skin. “Kiss me.”

Claude obliges, wasting no time as he captures her mouth with his, a hand resting on her neck as Byleth smooths her own hands over his chest. His lips are soft, parting hers easily so he can slide his tongue against hers, making Byleth arch up, seeking more. Claude’s free hand travels down her back, resting just above her ass, pressing her tight to him.

Byleth suddenly feels more alive than she’s felt since the last time she’d stepped onto a battlefield. Every part of her that brushes against Claude is electrified, especially where their lips meet. Her hands slide up around his neck, and her breasts press into his chest. His hand at her back, the other in her hair. The flame inside her burns hotter and higher than it ever has before, but now it no longer hurts, and she wants _more_.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there kissing, but eventually she has to draw her mouth away, pulling in a ragged breath. He’s not much better, but he still manages to tip her head back slightly and continue kissing down her throat, sucking at the skin just above her hammering pulse.

“ _Claude_ ,” she gasps, grasping his hair, enjoying the onslaught of his clever lips against her for another moment before gently tugging to get him to raise his head.

His eyes meet hers, wild and dark, reflecting the need she knows is in her own.

“Bed.” The word comes out breathlessly as her hands move back down his body, lightly shoving at his chest to encourage him to move. He takes the unspoken order well, lips pulling up into a smirk as he takes her hands in his own and walks backwards, and the thought comes fleeting to her as she thinks about how sure footed he is – this was his room. This was his _bed_.

When his legs hit the back of the bed, Claude stops and she can see he’s contemplating something.

She narrows her eyes. “What are you thinking about?” She presses against him again, hoping he’ll get on the bed, but now he’s immovable, watching her with a promise in his eyes.

He kisses her again, and Byleth sighs into his mouth, distracted enough to allow him to spin them around so that she’s the one standing against the edge of her bed.

“I’m thinking,” he finally replies against her lips, “that I’d like to strip you out of all this.” His fingers play with the collar of her dress. “I want to rip it off you,” he growls, grinding against her.

“Do it,” she gasps, her own hands scrabbling at his clothes, desperate to feel his skin. There’s a clasp at his shoulder; his cape falls to the floor. The sash around his waist, carefully tied and luxurious under her fingers, is undone with impatience. She stills only when she sees Claude bring his hand up to his mouth, grabbing one of the fingers of his glove with his teeth and pulling it completely off.

The sight of it makes her moan in the back of her throat, and Claude’s eyebrows raise before he proceeds to do the same thing with the other glove, slower this time. Showing off. It’s enough to make Byleth get back to work on removing his stupid, complicated clothing and with his gloves off, Claude helps her, still smirking.

One layer comes off, tossed aside, narrowly avoiding a lamp.

Another, dropped to his feet.

And then the final layer, which Byleth pulls impatiently up and over his head, leaving Claude to detangle himself from. He laughs as he throws it away, but it quickly turns into a groan as Byleth spreads her hands across the skin revealed to her, letting her fingers run through the hair on his chest and down over his abs to the enticing trail of hair leading into his already tented pants. He inhales sharply under her touch, and Byleth glances up to see him watching her with his mouth parted and hair completely mussed, both from her hands and from the desperate way she’d pulled his clothes off.

The expression on his face makes her smile, and she leans in to kiss his chest, spreading her hands across his ribs and around to his back where the skin is smooth and soft, except where it’s interrupted with scars. Underneath it all she can feel the strength of his muscles and the warmth radiating from him.

And when she leans forward to take one of his nipples in her mouth, biting down gently, she feels his resulting moan vibrate through her.

Claude’s hands settle in her hair again, but this time he begins to take off the crown. He’s hurried about it, but still careful not to pull her hair, even when she lightly bites him again before moving to his other nipple. The whole time her hands touch him, greedy, from his back to his chest and down and around again, mapping him with her fingers.

There’s a soft _thunk_ somewhere in the room as the crown hits the ground wherever Claude has dropped it, and then his hands work through her hair again, pulling out pins impatiently while still being gentle.

When he’s done, he breathes out her name. As soon as Byleth looks up from his skin he crashes his mouth to hers and it’s his turn to start pulling at her clothes. She thinks he might actually break the clasp of her own cloak, but she’s far behind caring, letting him pull it off and toss it into the depths of her increasingly messy room. Next his hands start at the buttons of her dress – buttons that start at the back of her neck and go all the way down her back.

Some of these, too, get ripped off.

“Why are there so many?” he hisses, leaving her mouth to rest his chin on her shoulder, brushing her hair aside so he can see what he’s doing.

Byleth might have laughed, but Claude works the dress apart enough to slide a hand down her bare back and the searing feel of his palm against her skin – such a simple touch – is such a shock to her senses that she shudders.

It’s not long before Claude has all the buttons undone – or broken off – and he steps back to pull the dress off her shoulders, tugging the sleeves down her arms until the bodice crumples around her waist, leaving her torso bare save for the lacy white underwear she’s wearing that makes him stop and stare at her chest that’s still heaving with heavy breaths.

If Byleth were better with words – if she were more like Claude – she might have made a smart comment or a quip or said something at least halfway clever. But she isn’t, and she’s more turned on than she’s ever been in her life and he’s hardly even _touched_ her yet.

But Claude – quick, clever Claude – seems to be in a similar state. His eyes roam over her, just as his hands slide down her sides and push the dress the rest of the way off, landing in a heap at her feet.

All Claude can do is groan, kissing her again as he grabs a handful of her thighs, hitching her legs up, and Byleth suddenly finds herself horizontal, lying on the bed. Claude detaches himself from her and lets go of her legs, leaving her feet to hit the floor, so that she's half-on and half-off the bed.

As he looks at her, he says something in Almyran in a rough voice, deep with want and thick with emotion, and she thinks she gets what he’s saying even if she doesn’t understand the words. Claude leans back into her again, kissing her neck briefly before beginning to move down her body, pausing to take one of her still covered nipples in his mouth, sucking at the fabric. Byleth clutches at his shoulders, a needy sound leaving her lips at each sensation of his tongue dragging across the now wet lace covering her hard nipple. Satisfied, he repeats the action on the other one, until Byleth is writhing under him, desperate to gain some friction where she needs it most.

His eyes flick up towards her face as he finally keeps moving down her body, swirling his tongue into her bellybutton, kissing the scar just below it, until he comes to the equally lacy underwear that she’s sure is possibly disintegrating because she’s so damn _wet_.

“I never expected you to wear something like this,” he murmurs against her hip, placing a kiss against the white fabric.

Trying fruitlessly to catch her breath, Byleth raises herself onto her elbows so she can better see him. “Fit for a–“ she has to stop to suck in a shuddering breath as Claude starts to peel the fabric down her legs, moving backwards to give himself room. “–a queen.”

As he does that, she leans forward to reach around and unbuckle her bra, before flinging that away to join the rest of their clothes. Claude pulls off her shoes so he can remove her underwear completely, leaving her clad only in the thigh high stockings she hadn’t previously seen the need for, but which she can now appreciate thanks to the way Claude’s gaze is travelling up her body.

Grasping her calves, he pulls her forward gently until her backside is at the edge of the bed, and she reclines back on her elbows to watch him, trying not to squirm or be impatient, wanting to savour each second of this. He kneels on the floor between her legs, his eyes darting from her wet centre to her breasts, like he’s not sure where to touch first. Giving him a hint, Byleth raises her hips at him, and a slow smile curls across his face, filled with promise.

Claude presses a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, just above the edge of her stocking, and spreads her legs wider as he gets himself comfortable.

Finally, _finally_ , he touches her. With one hand holding one of her thighs, he uses the other to spread her open, leaning in and dragging his tongue from her opening up to her already swollen clit. Byleth drops back onto the bed with a loud cry, and even though she can’t see it, she can feel him smile against her.

His fingers slide down to tease her opening, and he easily slips one inside, slowly pumping it before adding another.

Byleth moans out his name, her hands fisting the sheets of the bed. Claude returns his lips to her clit again, flattening his tongue against her before wrapping his lips around it and sucking. It makes her let out a cry so loud she surprises herself. Hardly aware of what she’s doing, she rests one of her hands in Claude’s hair, holding him to her as she grinds against his face.

Another finger, deep inside her, curling and making her shudder in pleasure as his tongue and lips keep working at her, building her quickly to her peak. It’s bliss; there’s nothing else but this, but him, but _them_.

Claude’s free hand leaves her thigh to find hers that’s still clutching the sheets. She tangles her fingers with his, squeezing tight as the fingers insider her move faster and his tongue dances across her more firmly.

Her back bows as she comes with soundless moan, so overcome she can’t catch her breath to make a sound, while her thighs clench around Claude’s head. He keeps his mouth on her and his fingers moving, wringing every last drop of pleasure out of her and onto his tongue. It’s not until her body finally relaxes as she slumps against the bed and her legs drop to the ground again does he move.

Byleth watches through hazy eyes as he rises up to lean over her, looking pleased with himself. “You okay there, Teach?”

“Mmm,” she hums in reply as she comes back to herself, watching as he licks his lips deliberately. She can see that her juices are still across his face, a fact Claude seems to enjoy, and it makes a satisfied smile cross her own face.

Claude leans back on his haunches, and Byleth sits up, resting her arms on his shoulders as she pulls him in for a deep kiss. He groans, skimming his hands up to become better acquainted with her breasts, but Byleth has another idea.

Swatting his hands away, she sits up straight. “Stand up,” she demands.

Claude’s lips twitch, but he obeys, giving her an eyeful of his still clothed erection. She ignores it for now, and says, “Take off your boots.”

Still biting back his smile, Claude winks at her and turns around, deliberately bending over further than necessary, this time giving her a view of his backside.

Not that she’s complaining, and now her fingers curl into the sheets again, this time in anticipation.

Boots off and kicked away, Claude turns back around, and Byleth wastes no time hooking her fingers into the waist of his pants and pulling them down.

His generous erection springs free, and she looks up at his face, flushed and still wet from her own orgasm and it sends a whole new rush of desire through her.

“No underwear? she asks nonchalantly, like his cock isn’t an inch away from poking her in the eye.

He huffs out a laugh. “Don’t need it, with all that.” He gestures to the pile of his elaborate clothes, but the laugh turns into a moan as Byleth reaches out to take him in hand, learning the feel of him, spreading the fluid already leaking from his tip with her thumb. His hands fist the air by his sides as she strokes him.

“By– _Byleth_ ,” he chokes out when she leans forward, sucking the head of his cock into her mouth while her grip tightens on him. Like she had with her hand, she explores him with her mouth, working further down his length and tracing him with her tongue. One of Claude’s hands comes to rest in her hair, but he’s more considerate than she’d been of him, only gathering the hair away from her face and holding with a loose grip. Hollowing out her cheeks as she pulls off him, she keeps her eyes on his face, her own core clenching at his expression. She can feel the tension pouring off him, and the restraint it’s taking him to hold back. As she strokes him again, this time letting her hand keep moving downwards to play with his balls and making him, Byleth realises she wants to see him lose that restraint.

She takes him by surprise when she lets go and moves away, scooting herself up the bed to rest her head against the pillows. But it doesn’t take Claude long to realise what she wants, especially not when her legs fall open in invitation, and he kicks off his pants completely and climbs up after her, settling between her legs again, fingers brushing against her centre teasingly as he kisses her thoroughly.

“Byleth,” he whispers, leaning on his free hand to look at her tenderly. “My friend.” He pauses. “ _My love_.”

Arching up, she slides her hands to the back of his neck, watching as his eyes flutter closed. “I love you,” she says, pressing kisses to his lips and his cheeks, fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“No,” he responds fiercely, opening his eyes. “I’d have waited forever for you. I’m sorry I left so abruptly. But Byleth – let me help you. You aren’t alone.”

She nods, closing her eyes at the swell of emotion building in her as she falls back onto the bed. He follows her down, chasing her lips, and she feels the promise in this kiss. She’s still kissing him as he slides into her. Sheathing himself to the hilt, Claude lets out a moan and a sharp exhale that Byleth breaths in, savouring the sensation of being filled by him.

“By,” he breaths, dropping his face into her neck and holding himself still. Byleth realises he’s trying to get himself under control. She clenches around him when he moans into her skin and begins moving, her own passion quickly rising again despite the recent orgasm.

They move together, in sync, like they always had on the battlefield. But this is no battle; it’s something infinitely better. It’s love and desire and home, all wrapped in Claude, and everything Byleth thought she’d never have after her clueless response to his proposal.

Her legs wrap around him, keeping him close. Claude’s lips dance across her sweat slicked skin, and as his thrusts speed up, Byleth meets each one with vigour. The balcony doors are still open, with a frigid breeze blowing in, but neither of them notice it, finding all the warmth they need in each other.

Byleth captures Claude’s lips in a messy kiss, enjoying the sight of his blissed out expression and half-closed eyes. He looks glorious above her, his restraint and walls falling away as they make love.

Opening his eyes fully, his gaze sharpens on her, before he smirks and flips them over.

Byleth recovers her balance quickly as she straddles him, grabbing onto Claude’s shoulders as he leans back onto the pillows gazing up at her with Byleth can only think of as something like reverence.

She shifts, mouth dropping open in pleasure at the feel of him inside her at this angle, deep and satisfying, and his hands dig into her hips at the movement.

When she begins to move, they both quickly get back to their rhythm, and the room once again becomes filled the the noises of their sighs and moans, and the wet slide of skin against skin.

Claude throws his head back with a load moan and something that might have been her name, and Byleth leans forward, riding him in earnest. As she looks at him, she decides she likes him under her just as much as she likes him over her. Claude's thrusts begin to grow erratic, and she can tell that he’s getting close to his release. But he's clearly set on getting another orgasm out of her, because he raises his head again to catch her eyes, and one of his hands leave her hips, moving to where they’re joined.

He keeps watching her face as he rubs her clit, making her movements stutter and a full body shudder rip through her as her orgasm creeps closer. Recovering, Byleth forces herself to keep her eyes open, letting one of her own hands join his, pressing it more firmly into her, grinding into his hand each time she moves back down his cock.

Her orgasm hits her almost unexpectedly, like a sudden crashing wave, and Claude follows her, fingers tightening on her hip as he releases into her. Byleth continues to rock on top of him, clenching around his cock, milking every last bit of pleasure for them both.

Claude is beautiful when he comes – not a surprise, because he’s always beautiful. But watching the pleasure play out across his face is something special, and one Byleth hopes she’ll get to see often.

And after it washes over him, he relaxes into the bed, blinking up at her with a loving smile that she knows is mirrored on her own face.

.

Afterwards, when they’ve both recovered, Claude manages to stand up and shut the balcony doors against the chilly night before stumbling back into the bed. He pulls the blankets over them, and it’s then does Byleth ask the question, hushed and soft into the skin just over his heart.

“What now?”

Fingers calloused from years of archery skim over her shoulder, and down her arm until they find her hand, holding tight.

“Now,” he says, “I’d like to ask you to marry me again. Would you do me the honour, Byleth, of becoming my wife?”

Byleth presses her lips against his skin and raises her head to meet his gaze, wanting him to know she’s sure. “Yes, Claude, I want to marry you. I love you.” There’s no panic this time, no doubts about her own feelings. She knows what she wants.

The pressures of her rule remain – they will still be just as heavy tomorrow as they were yesterday. And Claude won’t always be here. His kingdom is still across the mountains.

But the war had been difficult, too. What had made it more bearable had been having a partner. By having him.

Claude beams at her, his smile wide and open as he leans in for a soft kiss. “I suppose now I’ll have to stay a bit longer and court you.”

Her brows knit together even as the news that he’ll be staying longer thrills her. “Court me? I’ve already agreed to marry you.”

“But no one else knows that. And we have some courting traditions in Almyra you might like. Less stuffy than Fódlan. You might have to visit and enjoy them all.”

“I’d like that,” she murmurs, thinking of all the times in the past he’d said that she should visit his homeland. She’s wanted to go for a long time.

Suddenly the future looks a lot less lonely.

“And let me help you. Let us help each other. Don’t shut yourself off again. I’m not the only person who cares for you.” The concern from earlier is back on his face.

“I’ll try.” It’s all she can promise, but she means it. She’s let herself drift in a way she never has before, and let herself get overwhelmed. It’s time to learn to adapt, like how she had when she first arrived at Garreg Mach.

Her words seem to mollify Claude slightly. “I suppose,” Byleth continues, thinking ahead, “I should get better at riding wyverns, so it’ll be easier to visit you.”

He nods, voice turning grave, but the twinkle in his eye gives him away. “If it helps, judging by tonight’s performance, you’re already quite adept at riding.”

Byleth can’t stop the surprised bark of laughter that escapes her. The noise makes Claude soften and smile at her.

“It’s good to hear you laugh.”

She sighs, running her fingers across his cheek. “I have missed you.”

Nodding, Claude replies, “That feeling is mutual. When I came here for this celebration, I was determined to leave on better grounds than before.” He laughs lightly. “But I never let myself hope for _this_. You’re my dream just as much as anything else.”

“Thank you,” she says, “for waiting.”

“Already told you, Teach, I’d wait forever. But I’m not going to lie, I’m very glad I don’t have to. I’m _extremely_ glad you didn’t block up the second hidden passage to this room.”

She’d forgotten about that, Byleth realises, turning her head in the direction she knows it’s in.

“I’ll show you it in the morning,” he promises.

“While we’re… _courting_ ,” she says the word with some distaste, “I suppose propriety dictates you not spend the night in my room, not until we’re married.”

“Nope.” He says it casually, looking entirely unbothered by how completely improper their current situation is. Byleth feels the same.

“Then it’s a good thing we have that passage.”

“Ah.” Claude nods. “I see. You need more riding training. I’m happy to oblige.”

She laughs again at that, amazed at how light she feels. Amazed at _him_. “Only some. Are you getting lazy?”

He raises her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “For you, my love, never.”

“Do you want to prove that?” Byleth asks mildly even as she feels the blush spread across her face.

His eyebrows raise and his lips turn upwards. “I really do,” he says fervently, letting Byleth pull him down on top of her, her lips finding his, as he happily proves just how hardworking he is.

**Author's Note:**

> Save a wyvern, ride a Claude.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/flowerfuls)
> 
> Thanks to the Claudeleth Golden Gifts exchange, I received some beautiful art for this fic [here](https://twitter.com/horneness/status/1254515832220254209) and [here](https://twitter.com/juicep0x/status/1255217069425115149) – please check them out. 💛


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